


if I could sleep forever (would you still be in my dreams?)

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreams, F/M, Gen, Light Smut, Romance, Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Soulmates, destined to be together, soulmate dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams began differently than he had been taught they would.</p><p>When Oliver was a child, he was told the dreams would hit him like a car crash - violent and shocking and altogether unexpected. They would reflect the explosive impact their meaning would have on his life. They would reflect the desperation he would feel upon waking; the desperate need to find the person the dreams pointed toward.</p><p>But his dreams began like a whisper.</p><p>-Olicity Soulmate AU (seasons 1-3)<br/>inspired by Under The Covers by The Spill Canvas</p>
            </blockquote>





	if I could sleep forever (would you still be in my dreams?)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Soulmates AU. I'm surprised I haven't written one of these already. But, at least I have now. 
> 
> This was inspired by the song Under The Covers by The Spill Canvas. It is a gorgeous song and I recommend you listen to it! This Soulmates AU will span seasons 1-3 as canon divergence. I think you'll enjoy what I've done with it. This has been really tough to write but so far I am really proud of it! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> And please, don't forget to leave comments and kudos! Your feedback and support mean the world to me!

The dreams began differently than he had been taught they would.

When Oliver was a child, he was told the dreams would hit him like a car crash - violent and shocking and altogether unexpected. They would reflect the explosive impact their meaning would have on his life. They would reflect the desperation he would feel upon waking; the desperate need to find the person the dreams pointed toward.

But his dreams began like a whisper.

His dreams broke through his hellish nightmares and gave him a long awaited reprieve, sucking him out of his stint in Purgatory and into a new, refreshing realm of possibilities. And it all began with a rainbow of colors dancing in his mind’s eye, followed by a sweet scent floating near his nostrils. When he awoke, the smell still lingered, sending him reeling and longing.

He had been home for only a few days and had spent most of them thinking of Laurel, knowing without visual proof that she had moved on. She was happy and glowing in the way that only finding your soulmate could infuse, and he knew without a doubt it was Tommy.

So he had bottled up the desire to make amends and move forward. She wasn’t willing to let go of her grudge, and with her newfound relationship joy, he didn’t really blame her. There was nothing left for them. Not now. Not with Tommy so obviously being everything she needed.

So the gradual dreams offered him an escape from that disappointment. A positive light in his dark world. It gave him a reason to fall asleep every night. It gave him a reason to enjoy that lull into temporary peace.

And each night his dreams grew more detailed.

Starting with the colors and scent, they graduated to brightly colored silhouettes and a strange tapping sound that reverberated through his body to match the beating of his heart. Upon waking, the tapping still lingered. To anyone else, it might have been infuriating and annoying, but he found it comforting. It was like touching a pulsepoint, knowing life was still present.

He longed to hear that tapping in a more permanent way.

 

+--->

He moved forward with his mission, tackling the overwhelming task of cleansing the city of all who had failed it. And with the dreams constantly on his mind, he slowly vowed to keep the city safe for her - for the unknown woman casting the silhouettes in his head. If he never met her, he could live with that. As long as he could continue to dream of her and know she was alive and well and safe.

He walked through Queen Consolidated and, somehow, in the crowded hallways, the tapping noise resounded, echoing in his head as if off the walls around him. Constantly supervised, he remained on course to his mother’s office and anywhere else she deemed fit. But, deep inside, the desire to track down the source of that beautiful sound was overwhelming. He longed to know what the tapping was, and who was causing it. He hadn't heard of elements of the dreams flowing into wakefulness, and he certainly wasn't complaining. But he was always watched, guarded. He had evaded Diggle a couple times, but he knew he couldn’t keep the disappearing acts up. Not even to learn more about the dreams.

So he left the building soon after meetings with his mother and the tapping faded, only to return in his dreams. Dreams he wished to make reality.

<\---+

 

The bullet-riddled laptop sent him down to a floor so far away from his usual destinations. But as he descended in the elevator, the tapping grew louder in his head and he was suddenly shaking with anticipation. The elevator doors slid open and he entered the I.T. department. He recalled different employees marvelling over a young blonde fresh out of MIT with a knack for brilliant tech work. Her name was on his tongue and, for some reason, it felt familiar and desirable.

He rounded a corner and ducked into a small cubicle, the tapping drowning out all other noise as he looked in to find the young blonde, and his heart ceased its beating for a moment.

She was typing the last of a string of code, a red pen between her teeth and, without a doubt, he knew her. He had seen her once before, years ago. He recognized her from his time in Starling with Maseo, and his heart started beating faster. She had talked to his photograph. More like babbled to his photograph. And she had made him smile. The first real smile he had experienced in a long time. And, already, she was doing it again. His lips were turning up, spreading into that unfamiliar expression. She swiveled around, focusing on something at the other side of her desk and ceased her typing. The tapping was gone and the silence was horrific.

He cleared his throat. “Felicity Smoak?” he asked and she swiveled back around, grabbing for the pen that was still clamped tight between her teeth and bright pink lips. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”

The shock on her face wasn’t simply a remembrance of her babbling to his picture or the surprise of him being in her department. Her expression showed a mixture of excitement and confused relief, as if even she wasn’t sure why she was relieved. He instantly began wondering if she was having dreams about him. Finally she shook herself out of her reverie and spoke. “Of course!” she gazed up at him, in a way so different from the way other women had gazed up at him in the past. “I know who you are. You’re Mr. Queen.”

He resisted the urge to cringe. “No… Mr. Queen was my father.”

“Right,” she continued, attempting to save herself. “But he’s dead.” As soon as the words left her she was shaking her head. “I mean he drowned. But you didn’t… which means you could come down to the I.T. department and listen to me babble.” She began tapping the pen against the desk, so reminiscent of her typing that his heart fluttered slightly. “Which will end. In three...two, one.”

He grinned and produced the laptop, her eyes growing wide and suspicious instantly upon seeing it and hearing his sad attempt at a cover. He knew it was bad. He knew he was failing. He knew without a doubt that the revelation of her had screwed with his words and ideas. But she was here, alive and talking to him and paying attention to him. It was everything he could have wanted and more.

She tilted her head to the side, completely unconvinced and he smiled, loving every little movement she made. She quickly got to work, with very few questions asked, and he sat beside her, taking in the sweet scent he had only experienced in dreams. She recovered all the data and the situation grew more awkward.

He took the ruined laptop and a drive with all of the information she had uncovered, nodding to her with a slight grin. “Thank you, Miss Smoak.”

“Anytime,” she said without hesitation and closed her eyes at her excitement. His grin transformed into a smile.

He walked away, hearing the tapping resume and he was at ease, her scent clinging to him as he neared the elevator. But abruptly, the tapping ended.

“Mr. Queen, I mean _Oliver_ , wait!”

He turned, feeling a sense of relief at her pursuit. The elevator doors opened and he quickly entered, forcing her to follow him in. “Yes?” he asked as the doors closed, locking them in.

“I know this is weird and that I’m technically your employee and that you’re way out of my league, but I feel this crazy desire to ask…”

“Felicity…” he urged her on.

“Would you wanna get some dinner with me?” she asked in a rush, closing her eyes and then opening one slightly, squinting at him from behind her adorable glasses.

He was nodding before he could stop himself. “Definitely.”

She brightened, a blush creeping into her cheeks and she giggled in what appeared to be mild shock. “Oh, really? Wow. Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you said yes because I totally put a little text file with my number on the drive.”

Oliver stared at her, enjoying how her embarrassment made her skin glow and soon the doors opened and he left the confines of the elevator. He looked over his shoulder at her and winked. “I’ll call you.”

+--->

 

That night his dreams were more intense and detailed. The tapping remained, as well as the colors. But the silhouettes had transformed into a complete image, revealing her in the exact way he recalled her. The pink blouse and pink lipstick and red pen, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

She wasn't the type of girl he used to target in his days as Starling City's favorite playboy, but everything about her seemed to set him aflame, longing to explore her and learn more. She was a mystery that had begun long before he was ready for the knowledge of their soulmate connection, with that one little babble on that one night he happened to be back home during his stint in Hong Kong hell.

Oliver would awaken in starts and stops, heart beating fast and sweat covering his chest; a side effect of the last five traumatic years. But now it was simply a habit with no dreams leading to the abrupt reaction. His instincts insisted on him checking his surroundings for dangers. He would quickly fall asleep again, finding Felicity there in his dreams. Typing. Babbling. Biting the red pen. Squinting at him in nervous embarrassment.

And, on occasion, he might find her in new scenarios. Curled up on the couch eating ice cream was his personal favorite. Seeing her so relaxed and happy made him happy… a feeling he had almost forgotten.

He longed to be part of that picture.

<\---+

 

He called her the next day, without hesitation, after a shower and some breakfast to give him courage. She answered in the middle of the first ring, enthusiastic with her greeting and he could sense her nervousness and excitement through the phone. She babbled about how work was excruciatingly boring and how her supervisor was glaring at her to get off the phone. He chuckled and told her to get back to work and he’d pick her up on Friday at seven-thirty.

Once the call ended, he collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, finding himself excited for the first time in a long time. He had no reason to feel any dread or worry; he hadn’t felt that overwhelming negativity since the dreams started and his nightmares no longer plagued him.

So he waited for the evening, going through his usual routine each day leading to the date, now with a new team member. Scouring police records on residents of his father’s list. Sparring. Target practice. Repeat.

As he picked up his keys and headed for the stairs, Diggle stopped him.

“You seem different?” he said, eyebrow raised with the posed question.

Oliver tried to keep the smile from his lips but it won, spreading quickly. “I am,” he admitted. When Diggle remained inquisitive, Oliver added: “I have a date.”

“I take it this date is not with one of Starling’s lowlifes?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, it is not.”

“Picking the playboy role back up, then?”

Oliver shook his head once more, this time with a breathy laugh. “No, Digg,” he answered. “I… I think I found _her_.”

“Her?” Diggle asked, brow furrowing out of the raised position. Then his eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, enjoy. I’ll man the fort.”

Oliver nodded and finally made his way up the stairs. The drive home felt slow as his anticipation grew, and the process of getting ready seemed to take forever. Finally he glanced into the mirror, usually disgusted with the dead look he found reflected back, but now he found brightness. Life. And he connected it all back to her.

+--->

 

He jogged up the stairs of her apartment building, unwilling to wait for the elevator. He was at her door in record time, knocking cheerfully. She opened it within seconds and grinned. She was gorgeous. Hair down from her ponytail, in waves, framing her face perfectly. Her glasses were gone, revealing her bright blue eyes. Her lips were painted red, accentuating the kissable lines and curves. And then her body. The body that he had only seen in silhouettes and a limited number of costumes. It was now in a tight black dress that hid her body but hugged it in all the right places, coming just above the knee. He took a deep breath and then smiled, bringing his eyes back to hers. “Hi,” he said shakily.

“Hi,” she replied, looking just as nervous as he was. She held tightly to her clutch, rocking back and forth on her heels in the silence.

He leaned in, spreading his arms for a hug and she instantly responded, going into his arms with no hesitation. It was a short hug, nothing special, just a greeting. But the warmth and contentment and desire it instilled was intense.

They broke apart and made their way to the elevator, still silent. And he was okay with it. There was the glorious tapping lightly playing like a soundtrack to their interactions. It made his heart beat quicken and his palms sweat a little. He wondered what she might be hearing beneath the world’s normal sounds; what sound defined him?

They got in the car and he drove them to one of his favorite fancy Italian restaurants, thinking for a moment that maybe he had gotten it wrong: did people still like Italian for dates? He knew garlic could be strong and disgusting and a mood-killer, but didn’t people still find Italian anything romantic? He glanced over at Felicity as he pulled up to the doorfront valet and he could tell he chose correctly.

They left the car and, arm-in-arm, walked into the restaurant. They were greeted by an overly enthusiastic maître d' who recognized Oliver before he even spoke. “Queen, party of two.”

“Yes, yes,” the maître d' proclaimed, grabbing some menus and gesturing into the main dining room. “This way to your private alcove.”

Felicity’s head jerked up in shock. “What?”

As they walked, Oliver leaned down and whispered into her ear. “One perk of being Oliver Queen is that restaurants like to give you whatever you ask.”

“You didn’t have to…” she insisted as they were taken into a small booth in the far corner, framed with thick red curtains and lit with candles and a miniature chandelier centered above them.

As he sat across from her, all too aware of the length of the booth beside him that he could be sitting in to get closer to her, he grinned. “But I wanted to.”

He watched her as she perused the menu, absent-mindedly twirling a lock of her golden hair between her fingers. The candlelight cast the atmosphere into dancing shadows, darkening her lips and lined lids. He was scared to imagine what he might look like in such light. But he kept himself away from his self-loathing, enjoying the brightness her presence brought him. When a server arrived to ask for drink orders, Oliver glanced in Felicity’s direction in question. She shrugged, as if to say she trusted his judgement. He asked for their best red wine. When the server left, Felicity raised a brow. “How did you know I like red wine?”

“Honestly, it was just a guess.”

“Oh. I was wondering if it had anything to do with the dreams…” Felicity admitted, then her eyes grew wide. “Not that I’m assuming the dreams are anything important to you or even that you have them. Maybe my wires have been crossed. But I’m almost certain it’s _you_ and _me_ …” She trailed off, the innuendo clear, and hid her face behind her hand, embarrassment plain in the flush of her skin.

“I have the dreams, too,” he said, reaching over and gently pulling her hand away to rest with his on the table. She looked up at him, brow raised once more. “But I haven’t seen any wine.”

“That’s surprising,” she said as he drew patterns on the top of her hand. “I drink a lot of wine.” Silence resided between them for a moment and then she looked up at him, her eyes wide once again. “I’m not saying I’m an alcoholic or anything, I just like a glass of wine every evening with dinner to wind down. Work sucks.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand in comfort and understanding. “Relax, Felicity.” Their eyes locked and he couldn’t help thinking of his questions. “Speaking of the dreams, when did yours start?”

She quickly took a sip of her wine and began regaling him with the tale of the shocking dreams she began getting a few weeks before he was discovered on the shores of Lian Yu. She wouldn’t tell him what the dreams entailed, however. “I’ve always been told that soulmates should not share the dreams they dream with one another. Not that I believe in superstitions or anything, but shouldn’t soulmates have something kept from one another?”

He watched her as she spoke, not totally agreeing but allowing her that one thing; the first of many, he assumed. But he didn’t hesitate in telling her what he dreamed. “I hear a lot of tapping,” he said, taking his own sip of wine.

She laughed. “Tapping?”

He chuckled at her reaction. “Tapping from your keyboard.”

With the explanation, she smiled with a nod. “I guess that makes perfect sense.”

They ordered their food and chatted some more about their lives and their families. She didn’t prod him about his time in hell, sensing immediately that he disliked discussing it, and he didn’t prod her further about her father. They understood one another so well, without having officially met before his arrival at her office. He knew soulmates were supposed to be perfectly attuned to one another, even before interaction, but he always believed that to be a myth. He was quickly learning it was true.

They ate their dinner, then shared a dessert. The chocolate mousse was wonderful, and the moment some remained smeared on Felicity’s bottom lip, his heart stopped. Without thinking, he reached forward and wiped it away with his thumb, licking it off with a smirk. Felicity stopped everything, her breath visibly growing heavier. He signaled for the check and soon they were out on the road, a light rain splattering against the windshield.  

They held hands the whole drive, their grips tight and longing, and he wondered if he would continue his old habit of sex on a first date. She was his soulmate, so it seemed only natural, but at the same time, he didn’t want to move anything along. His chocolate mousse licking aside, he hadn’t intended on bringing intimacy into the equation so soon.

But the tapping was louder and intoxicating, luring him with its desperate pace.

He got out of the car first and opened her door for her, shielding her from the rain with his suit jacket. They rushed into the building and Felicity moved toward the elevator, but Oliver tugged her up the stairs, laughing like he hadn’t in quite some time. She kicked off her heels and rushed ahead, glancing behind her like a child playing tag, teasing him. He chased her up each flight until they reached her floor and he caught her in front of her door, his arms encircling her waist to bring her against him.

She looked up at him through her lashes, beckoning him. He leaned in and let his lips graze hers, wet from the rain. For a moment, she didn’t respond, just letting their lips touch and their breaths mingle. Then she tilted her head to the side and parting her lips against his, inviting.

And then he was lost.

Lost in her lips and embrace and scent and warmth. Lost in the tapping that quickened to match the pace of their lips and the drumming of their hearts. Her hands trailed down his chest, locking around his suspenders and she tugged on them, pulling him closer. With the force, he pushed her against her apartment door and caged her in with his arms.

He didn’t know how long they had remained there, but soon she was giggling and pulling away. She took her keys out of her clutch and began unlocking the door. Before stepping inside, she let her hand paint a long line from his jaw down to where his suspender hooked to his waistband and then tugged him forward, catching his mouth against hers. She kissed him one last time and then whispered softly against his lips: “I know you’re the vigilante.”

<\---+

Out on patrol that night, he couldn’t focus as her words danced in his mind, taunting and plaguing him. They blurred his normally crystal clear vision and sent him into dizzying vertigo upon the rooftops. With no real targets planned for the night, he called it quits early and left the foundry. He returned home pent up and clearly confused.

He wondered if the dreams had revealed his identity to her. And while that could be problematic, he felt worse about the images she might have seen in her sleep.

Dying men.

Soaring, piercing arrows.

Cold rain.

Howling wind.

The ache of his many fractures and cuts and burns.

As he undressed for the night and crawled into bed, he felt unbelievably guilty for the pain he might have caused her, unknowingly. But even still, he couldn’t take his mind off of the kiss. That had not been a kiss from someone who was angry or bitter about the dream connection.

It had been the kiss from someone who wanted more than a kiss.

He daydreamed slightly and he was reeling with the images he was greeted with. All of them of her. All of them suggestive. All of them caused his heart to pound and his skin to grow hot, soon glistening with sweat. He sat up, unable to drift to full sleep. He knew he had to leave. He had to go.

He had to be with her.

He jumped out of bed, the sheet cascading to the floor as he dressed in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt; he didn’t bother with a jacket or even socks. He slipped on a pair of Vans and ran down the hall, down the stairs and out the front door. He was in the car within moments of his decision being made and was racing through empty streets toward her building, not really knowing what he might say, just knowing he had to be with her.

The run up her building’s stairs was painfully long as his anticipation mounted. But he was soon in front of her door, hesitating with his hand up in position to knock. He held it there for a small eternity, playing through multiple scenarios.

She might turn him away.

She might invite him in.

She might take him right there in the doorway.

He ignored the third option and prayed to his demons for the second option. Option one wasn’t on the table for him. Not allowed. Tossed aside.

He finally drew in the courage and knocked, trying hard for it to sound casual and unhurried despite his impatience. From inside he could hear the shuffling of dainty feet and lights switching on. Then the locks were turning and unbolting, allowing the door to inch open. Through the small crack, he glimpsed her bespectacled eyes, bright and alive and giving him the look that he assumed he was giving her.

The door swung open, revealing her body fully. Standing in the doorway in a lacy black tank top and matching black panties, she looked wanton, desperate and just as impatient as he felt. She was biting her bottom lip and he decided it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen.

That one sight propelled him forward, grasping at her waist and neck and kicking the door closed in one frantic, fluid motion. His lips met hers and it was an instant inferno, overtaking them in a way he had never experienced before. They were a mess of hands and lips and stumbling legs, moving backwards into the apartment.

Without breaking the kiss, Felicity quickly attacked the button and zipper of his jeans, sending them falling down his legs to pool at his covered feet dangerously and leaving him in his briefs. To follow, he broke away for just a moment to tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside like that first option earlier, followed by his shoes and the pants. When he tried to collide with her once more, she halted him, her hand resting on his chest just above his Bratva tattoo. And he knew what was happening.

She was reacting to his scars and marks for the first time.

She traced the Russian criminal star, leaving no point untouched, eyeing it curiously. Next she traced the scars just beneath it, angry and red, never fading. She did this to each one, all around his body. On his chest. On his arms. On his back. Each one given special attention. When she completed her trip around his world of pain, she settled in front of him and kissed the tattoo, letting her tongue flit across the skin, sending a shock of flame through every inch of his body. And as much as he wanted to bring her lips back to his, he was rooted in place, rendered totally immobile by her mouth.

She kissed and licked and nipped and tugged at his skin, all the way around once more, engulfing his body in a sensual flame he never knew existed.

When she came to stand in front of him once more, he took advantage of her roving eyes and knelt in front of her, peeling the fabric of her tank up to reveal her abdomen, gloriously soft compared to his own. He brought his lips to the spot right above her navel, letting his scruff rasp against her. She let out a slight gasp and grasped his shoulders in an attempt to pull him to his feet, but he refused to move, so preoccupied by her body. He kissed and licked and nipped her in return, falling to her hipbones within seconds, letting his tongue slide beneath the waistband of her panties. She moaned softly.

That sound sent him reeling and he picked her up as he stood, letting her legs wrap around him, tight and full of longing. Before he brought his face back to hers, he saw her pointing to a doorway to the left. He went there, finding her bed tousled from restlessness. But he didn’t take her there. He dropped her on the dresser, leaving her legs wrapped around him as he brought his hands through her wavy hair, loving the softness. Their lips and tongues danced together as he dropped his hands down to her hips, gripping and kneading. Her hands trailed down in response, sliding them beneath his briefs to grasp his ass tightly. He growled.

He slowly pulled her tank top over her head, breaking their kiss but exposing her breasts. He smiled possessively as he grasped one in his hand, feeling the perfect weight of it in his palm. As he went to work there, squeezing and pinching, she tugged his briefs down, letting them fall down to the floor and he stepped out of them. He pressed himself against her, causing a moan to escape her. Her voice was raspy when she finally spoke: “I suppose I should follow suit.”

With that, he tugged her panties off, letting them drop as he glimpse her totally naked body. And it was over.

He lifted her and took her to bed, letting the sheets and blankets billow around them like clouds. Their lips locked and her legs tightened higher around his waist as he thrust once, feeling the flames cascading through him, knowing that he was feeling both her flame and his at once. She moaned with each motion, clutching his chest, digging her brightly painted nails in. She reciprocated, moving her hips with his, attempting to take control.

And he let her, flipping them over so she was straddling him, moving her pelvis expertly, in all the right ways for the both of them. He grasped her hips and ass and touched her as she moved, alternating between all three to give multiple sensations and she scraped her nails into his skin harder and flexed her hips in response, tightening all of her most secret muscles. They were sweating within moments, breathing heavily and crying out with each thrust. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and they moved together, in perfect sync until their cries became moans of one another's name.

If soulmate dreams were miraculous, soulmate sex was heaven. Over and over.

+--->

 

Their pillow talk after consisted of him explaining his mission to her, hoping she would be understanding. She listened, nodding on occasion and smiling when he grew passionate. Their legs were tangled and their arms were resting lightly around one another, comforting and loving and everything he needed.

He told her of the book, of the names within it and how he owed it to his father to make the city a better place. He told her of his work so far as the vigilante and his newly formed partnership with Diggle.

He left out bits of his story that were too difficult to explain; too painful. And, somehow, he felt she already knew so much of it from her dreams of him.

She didn’t ask him anything. She just let him ramble on, telling what he could. And by the end, she was kissing him, letting the contact heal his worry and some of the wounds from his time in hell. As he settled deeper into the pillow that smelled so wonderfully of her, she leaned forward and whispered: “I’d like to be part of your team.”

<\---+

Oliver brought her into the team reluctantly, fearing for her safety but unwilling to strip her of the fiery passion she had for doing good. She was his eyes and ears, keeping him safe on patrol, her voice in his ear and etching onto his heart with each word. And, always at the edge of sound, the tapping continued.

It didn’t take long for him to move into her place. His need to protect her and his constant presence there made it only natural, and she was giddy when he arrived at her door with a bag of clothes and some of his favorite photographs. It never felt like they were playing house, waiting for the blissfulness of new romance to dissipate. The blissfulness was real and permanent, never subsiding.

He spoke with Tommy about the soulmate connection, learning that it was true. The intensity of it would never go away; it hadn’t for him and Laurel, so why would it for anyone else?

The knowledge excited Oliver for the possibilities life had in store for them.

+--->

The Undertaking changed their lives.

The moment Merlyn revealed he had a second device, Oliver’s first thought was of Felicity. Of her being there, in the middle of the Glades, in the foundry. He recalled all the people he had lost, knowing that losing her would hurt ten times worse. Then, before him, the Glades were leveling, crumbling at the hands of villainous technology.

“Oliver?” her voice rang through his ear, triggering deeply rooted panic that he hadn’t felt since he first crawled onto Lian Yu.

“Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice calm despite his heart hammering and his body aching.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice cracking at the end, and he could hear the sound of crackling electricity. “The damage seems to be contained on the east side, past Wells Street,” she recited, her voice trembling with each word and Oliver knew what those locations meant. Laurel. Tommy had cut their friendship away, but Oliver wouldn’t be able to let Tommy live a life without Laurel. A life without his soulmate.

He looked to Digg, asking if he’d be okay alone and then he was off, Felicity’s voice in his ear directing him away from crumbling sections. Every few seconds, he would remind her that everything would be fine, that they would be fine. Even though he didn’t believe it, he knew she would be safe there in the foundry. Somehow, he knew she would be safe. And as he caught sight of CNRI, he knew it was time.

He took a deep breath and let the words spill out, the words he hadn’t said but had implied on multiple occasions. The words that, perhaps, soulmates never really had to say but he felt he had to. “Felicity,” he murmured, getting off his bike. “I love you.”

And as he overheard Laurel crying for Tommy and the usual tapping that signaled Felicity’s life was still intact, he heard her shaking voice respond: “I love you too, Oliver.”

With those words finally spoken, he rushed into the building, finding Tommy beneath the rubble. “You’re going to be fine,” Oliver grunted out as he moved the bricks and mortar away.

“Another thing... we got to disagree on,” Tommy said between gritted teeth. With the obstructions away, Oliver glimpsed the truth of the matter. Tommy wasn’t going to make it out alive, no matter what he might do.

“Tommy… I…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Just tell me Laurel is safe. I tried to get her out of here. Is she safe?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did. You saved her. And I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re going to be fine.”

“Stop,” Tommy breathed, his words almost inaudible amongst the cacophony of the Undertaking. “I’m sorry. All of this was stupid. I was angry with you.” After a few coughs, he continued. “Did you get him? Did you get my father?”

“No. No I didn’t.” The lie came out without hesitation and he knew it was the right thing to do.

“Thank you…” And as Tommy’s eyes began to close, his mouth moved, whispering the words: “I wonder if she’ll still dream of me.”

<\---+

Tommy’s words haunted Oliver when he finally returned to their apartment, coated in dust and grime. Felicity was there with a hot cup of tea and a pathetic little smile that warmed his heart, like it always did. He drank the tea in silence, letting those final words play in his head.

They showered together, lost in a melancholy that wouldn’t leave them. She massaged his aching muscles as the hot water cascaded down their bodies. The massages lured him into kisses. Sloppy kisses that sent them both into a frenzy and soon he had her up against the shower wall, her legs tight around him as they connected, her heat mixing with the heat of the water.

It was hurried and desperate. The kind of sex that only happened in response to defying death. It was rough and fast and they both knew it wouldn’t make them feel any better. But they enjoyed the sensations of each movement and soon they were cleaning up.

Oliver carried her out into the bedroom and cradled her in bed, wanting to keep her with him always. But he knew it would be safer for her if he wasn’t in the picture. And once she fell asleep, he left the bed and the apartment. He left Starling City, the only solace being the constant tapping to signal the continuation of her heartbeat. The lifeline that mattered most.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think of this first part? 
> 
> follow me on:  
> tumblr: arrow-through-my-writers-block  
> twitter: @miss_writer


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